


The time Jim took in a stray

by jemrio



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemrio/pseuds/jemrio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jim can get his witness out to Wayne Manor for protection, he has to make it through a night with her.</p>
<p>aka Jim gets weirded out but also definitely cares a lot about Selina</p>
            </blockquote>





	The time Jim took in a stray

**Author's Note:**

> I am very much here for Jim Gordon being super awks around Selina Kyle, because how could he not.

It was a strange first night, there in Barbara’s suddenly vacant apartment. They’d never spent more than a couple hours together at a time, and it showed; Jim hovered, half convinced Selina would fly the coop the moment he turned his back. In return, Selina grew more and more prickly by the moment, unaccustomed to supervision (truly, it was concern, though neither he nor her were aware of such a distinction quite yet). When they’d left the precinct earlier that night, Jim hadn't thought through his plan comprehensively, and that became increasingly apparent as the two decidedly not-friends rode the elevator up to the penthouse level of Barbara’s apartment building. During the 45 second ride, Jim’s exhausted mind realized that it was in fact two in the morning, and the long term plan of secreting Selina off to Wayne Manor would have to wait untildaylight. 

He didn’t mean for her to see the letter. Her practiced silent tread gave her a glimpse into his private life he would have preferred remain hidden, but Jim found himself feeling resigned instead of irritated.

“Bathroom’s that way. Take a shower.”

Her glare could have set tinder aflame.

“Not a suggestion, Selina.” Jim found himself shuttling her towards the well stocked master bath, hands on her leather clad shoulders. The girl tensed, but allowed herself to be pushed into the room.

_One night. That’s all. Just one night._

The sketch artist would come by in the morning (crack of dawn, is what Jim had specified in the official request form) then he could dump the street rat in the Palisades.

He was nearly dozing on the couch when she finally emerged, buffeted by flowery smelling steam.

“Nice water pressure. Hey, you got any pizza?”

She shuffled around, clad in a bathrobe that had to be Barbara’s, all white and fluffy and seriously weirding Jim out. He laid low in the living room for at least forty-five minutes while Selina had her pick of fridge leftovers (though he did fret over every quiet bang of creak; should rifling through a fridge really sound so violent?) The impropriety of the situation was not at all lost on the detective; Selina was 13,14 at the oldest. He didn't even want to think about his age in relation to that. Not that he was attracted to her (not in the fucking least) but still, Jim was an honorable man. Honorable men don't bring underage girls back to their apartment to spend the night, no matter how innocent the motivations.

He had just lit a fire when she shuffled back into the room, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a large serving spoon in the other.

“Mmmm, awesome. Fire…” her voice was obscured by a dollop of the sticky condiment, but Jim heard it crystal clear. Just as clear as he saw she’d shed the fuzzy robe in favor of one of his police academy shirts. _Just like Barbara used to wear_. It went just past Selina’s slightly knobby knees ( _thank god_ ) but just noticing that one tiny fact opened a whole different line of questioning: _what the fuck was she wearing underneath?_

Jim scooted out of there immediately, locking himself inside the master bedroom. He didn't like the flustered blush that crept up his neck. He didn't like it at all.

He showered quickly, dressing in sweats and a tee shirt, before venturing a peek into the common areas. The tv remained on low, the fire still crackled… and Selina drowsed on the couch, exactly where he’d left her. Well, almost exactly. She’d finished with her peanut butter (leaving the jar open on the coffee table he noticed) and had sunk back into the cushions, curling into herself like a kitten.

Jim watched her breathe from the doorway, watched as every blink of those dazzling green eyes came slower and slower. She was almost gone when he passed the threshold, crossing to an unassuming leather chest to fetch a hidden blanket for his sleepy guest. As the fleecy material settled around her, Jim had to resist the strange urge to tuck her in. Another urge, though, he indulged, sinking into the soft cushions just beside the street rat.

 

He never expected Selina to snuggle towards his body.

Her lithe form molded to his side not seconds after he’s sat down. After a nervous check of her face, Jim realized it was reflex; Selina was half in, half out of slumber.

Then he felt her knee up over his thigh, and her curl-adorned head pressing into his stomach.

 

“Selina,” he said, struggling to keep his voice un-demanding and soft.

She looked up at him, eyes half open. “Just give me a minute. Please,” she mumbled.

“A minute of what?” Jim asked, preparing to extract her slender body from his own.

“A minute. To feel safe.” Her voice was a sigh; a begging, exhausted sigh, and Jim could not refuse. _She’s barely conscious at this point, what does it even matter,_ he thought, running his eyes over her skinny figure.

She twitched a little, still settling in, causing both the blanket and shirt collar to ride up and down (respectively) at the same moment. The skin of Selina’s shoulders and upper thighs were revealed quite suddenly, and for a moment all Jim could do was stare. Stare at the dark bruises and pinkish white scars that adorned the girls’s flesh. Anger flared in Jim’s chest.

“Selina,” he needled.

“Wha,” she replied, very nearly upon sleep.

Jim ignored his initial reservations, reaching out and touch her, to touch the puckered scars that criss-crossed her thighs.

“What happened? Who did this?”

Selina seemed to wake slightly. Her eyes grew larger as she glanced between Jim, and Jim’s hand.

“Nothing,” she mumbled before pulling the blanket more securely around herself. “None of your business.”

She extracted herself from where she’d been curled against him, moving off the couch itself even. Selina slid down onto the fluffy rug that sat closet to the hearth, wrapping herself like a burrito in the blanket and curling into a ball.

“It is my business. If someone’s beating my witness, it’s my business.”

Jim hadn’t spent much time thinking about what Selina’s daily (or nightly) life must be like; he didn’t know where she stayed, or who she interacted with. All he’d really learned about the girl was that she made a living stealing other people’s shit. _Young girl, all alone on the dank streets of Gotham…_ Jim was a cop. He could easily call to mind the latest rape and sex trafficking statistics.

He shook his head. _Selina can take care of herself. She’s not a statistic._

Still, the image of the purple and yellow bruises were hard to shake.

In the morning, Jim half expected the apartment to be empty, his temperamental witness in the wind. To his mild surprise, he found her perched atop the kitchen table, swinging her legs as she munched a bowl of cereal. Except for dirty clothes she had put back on, the scene was almost domestic.

“Finally. You snore, y’know.”

Jim rolled his eyes, then stilled as he reached for the half empty orange juice carton on the table.

“How did you…”

“You didn’t lock your door,” Selina shrugged blithely, as if unlocked doors were explicit invitations. _To her they are,_ Jim reminded himself. Before he could respond, his cell phone rang.

“We’ll talk about this later. The sketch artist is here.”

They sat at the dining room table, Selina and Fred; _new guy, good artist, terrible taste in music,_ Jim catalogued what he knew about the young man while he hovered around the pair. 

“That nose is terrible.” The green eyed girl’s blasé comment was met by a huff and a puff and the sound of furious erasing.

“Behave, Selina,” Jim muttered as he leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at the face slowly taking shape upon Fred’s sketchpad.

“It’s Cat,” she reminded. “No, his cheeks weren't _that_ sunken. Why’d you erase the nose? I said it was bad, not wrong.” She nudged the pad before flinging her legs up to rest her feet on the table. Color rose in Fred’s cheeks.

“Detective Gordon, I can’t get this right if _she_ doesn't take it seriously.”

"Selina..."

" _Cat_."


End file.
